The Atrocity of One Simple Jersey
by ByAGhost
Summary: It all started with the God of Calamity forgetting his jersey at her house one humid afternoon. She hadn't know just how bad an impact his jersey would have on her, nor that he would flip her world upside down the way he had done. Her closed-off, frozen heart started to thaw, its monotone rhythm changing, just like her mind changing its definition of home - all because of him.


_**The Atrocity of One Simple Jersey**_

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I've recently been watching the whole Noragami show, and thus, I find myself writing a story following the series. Simply because that's what authors do, trust me. We keep creating and imagining new and different scenarios in our heads every time our minds find a new obsession and/or interest. This though, is kind of like a test story, because I'm at the moment trying to write in a different way compared to my other stories. Although I of course plan on finishing this, but it'd still be nice to hear what you all think of it - if it's a worthy shot or not. And no matter if it isn't, I'm still publishing all three parts because yes, there's going to be three parts to this short story. This is Part ONE.

I hope you enjoy, and please, do share your thoughts and review!

(And _yes_ , this is a Hiyori x Yato story that's going to reach above NSFW, meaning smut. So, unless you don't like that sort of thing, perhaps this story isn't meant for you. Just a warning.)

 **Disclaimer:** _I do not own Noragami or any of its characters, but what I do own is this plot!_

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 _ **The beginning.**_

It all started with the God of Calamity forgetting his jersey at her house one humid afternoon. It was a day she remembered clearly, as if it had just happened yesterday even though a whole _week_ already had passed by. Currently it was Friday, the calendar hanging off her wall a clear indication, the previously empty box checked with a glaringly red colour that stood out from the matte white of the glossy paper.

And since it was _Friday_ , it also meant that the weekend was just around the corner – but unlike everyone else of the world population, she, against all odds, actually _feared_ for the next morning, when she would wake up and realize that it was Saturday.

That Friday had passed, and she would lie in her bed with her mind racing several miles per minute, and he heart beating three times faster its usual pace.

Simply because she would have to come face to face with none other but the _same God_ who had, _unintentionally so,_ flipped her world over, causing confusion and worry to rule within the world when previously it had been speckled with joy and carelessness.

And no matter how much she wished for it to be so, it didn't end there - for it was also the _very same God_ who had somehow invoked a part of her that she thought would forever remain dormant. Yet now here she was, the part she _thought_ she buried rising from its ashes.

And it was all due to the fact that that _God_ had unlocked the doors which gave the content within free passage to the front of her mind so it could terrorize her, as if it had never been locked away.

But the worst part of it all however… Was that she truthfully didn't know if she necessarily found it to be as much of a problem as she had always made it out to be...

That perhaps, she didn't really _mind_. Which in turn, meant that she might as well have been a helping hand in the unlocking of the doors, because she couldn't recall that she ever really _fought_ for those doors to remain closed.

Because those doors had been opened as easily as if someone had flipped a switch, and that's what he had done. Just like that.

He flipped her world, and he flipped open the doors.

All with confidence and ease.

But then, could he truly come to accept her when the content that had been held behind the doors for so long came out?

 _What if he couldn't?_

The day it all had started… It was really no hard task to remember that day. After all, it had circulated within her mind for over eight days now, and her once relatively calm life revolving around a certain routine, became nothing else but a hectic rollercoaster ride - a ride that had yet to end, and had lasted for eight days already.

With every swift turn of the coaster, and with every slow escalation before the inevitable downfall, the predictability of her life all but disappeared, as she nowadays found herself having to expect the unexpected, no matter the absurdity of the likeliness of the countless possibilities. Every single possibility had the chance to occur, and it left her clueless.

There was little thanks to give to the jersey that had hung over the frame of her bed that day.

Upon recalling _that_ specific day, she remembered that she had just exited the shower, a white towel wrapped around her damp frame. Small water droplets that were too insistent to disappear when within the vicinity of the shower stall had shimmered on her skin, as the few rays of sun that had yet to disappear themselves shone through her window, lighting up the room with its orange-and pink hues. The colours of the fading sun had tinted the water droplets, causing them to look like shards of opal and diamond that had been sprinkled on her skin, the droplets glimmering and reflecting the rays of light.

She also remembered how the chilly air in her room had caused goosebumps to rise on her skin, the immediate change of environment causing a biological reaction within her body. It was akin to as if someone turned the hot button in the shower to cold in an instant, which everyone probably knew wasn't the most pleasurable thing to experience, the cold water acting much like the alarm sounding in the morning. It was just as aggravating. The steam from within the bathroom, she remembered, had poured out from behind her, curling into small tendrils that evaporated into thin air as they travelled further into the chilly room. It was the only source of warmth after she had exited the vicinity of the bathroom. She had thought it felt nice to have the steam running along her body before it went around further into the room before it evaporated.

As she decided to finally move, her feet made dull thuds against the floor, breaking the enchantment of being within the goldilock-zone of the bathroom and her room. She had walked over to the clothes she had laid out on her bed in preparation before her shower, the set of cozy clothes consisting of a thick, white turtleneck sweater and a pair of discoloured sweatpants.

She had been home alone that day, her parents out on a ferryboat trip. They had said they'd be gone for five days, and while she found it to be a little empty in the house, she had secretly rejoiced of receiving some alone time. She felt she needed to just relax, although that was the complete opposite of what she ended up feeling.

She remembered how she had just grabbed ahold of the sweater, ready to pull it over her form when something in her peripherals caught her attention. Her eyes had swiveled off to the side, and they had widened in surprise when a familiar piece of black fabric came within sight. Her mind instantly knew that it was nothing else but a _certain God's_ jersey.

She had drawn her breath before letting out an amused snort. Of course he would be so irresponsible as to forget his jersey. At _her_ place no less.

' _Oh Yato…'_

She distinctly remembered that a storm had been brooding that day too; the atmosphere humid, the air thick and heavy as the static within it continued to build up. The storm along with a heavy downpour of rain had come the next day.

Her hands that had gripped the white turtleneck sweater slackened, and she let it fall back down onto the bed. They fell to her sides as she stared at the jersey hanging on the framework of her bed, the jersey that belonged to _him._ Her eyes had somehow become transfixed on it, the possibility of drawing her shining orbs away from it nothing but wishful thinking.

What she hadn't known would happen however, was that the moment she touched _his_ jersey - the moment when she brought it up close to her, the scent of _him_ hitting her full force, was the moment her mind realized the fact that _his_ smell was nothing short of comforting and _calming_ , a sense of serenity surrounding her.

It was _also_ at _that_ moment that her eyes widened as her heart suddenly constricted, a _painful,_ heavily unsynchronized beating rhythm replacing the relaxed heartbeat she had only seconds ago. She felt her stomach drop a thousand miles as it suddenly flipped and her nerves tingled as they short-circuited.

The moment _his_ smell reached her nostrils, her conscious registered that it smelt of nothing else but _home._

It invoked the feelings she thought she had buried, the feelings she thought she had _locked away_ \- but in fact, they had actually been there the _whole time_ , slowly digging themselves up to become free once again. _His_ smell unraveled all the tedious, mind grueling work she had done to make sure they wouldn't resurface, but then here they were - doing _exactly that._

She remembered that her heartbeat never stopped thumping its painful beats, and she remembered that her hands had clenched _his_ jersey so hard that she managed to rip a hole in it. She couldn't help but think how that hole symbolized the hole _he_ had ripped open inside of her, all because of _his damned jersey._

She _didn't_ remember however, how her eyes had watered up, the water brimming over and creating two small rivulets of water that accumulated at the bottom of her chin, before the droplets dripped down onto the jersey, slowly soaking the black fabric.

She didn't remember either, how her knees had sunk down to the floor, her head thumping down onto her bed, face first, while the jersey was still tightly clutched between her fingers. As she heaved sob after sob, her nose silently inhaled the scent of her demise - the scent of _Yato._


End file.
